


Who is the Lamb and Who is the Knife?

by fairychangeling



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, Community: deancasbigbang, Demon Dean, Implied Bottom!Castiel, Implied Mpreg, King Dean Winchester, M/M, Mpreg, Prince Castiel, Threats of Violence, War, Wing Kink, Winged Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 01:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8308123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairychangeling/pseuds/fairychangeling
Summary: In an attempt to ensure the peace between their Kingdoms holds, the respective kings of the Demon and Angel Kingdoms wed one of each other's royal household. Prince Castiel, youngest brother of the Angel's King, is chosen for the Demon's groom. Terrified but proud, he accepts the marriage to save his people from further sufferingThen he meets his future husband.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my wonderful artist, Steffi, who made the most beautiful art to go along with this story. 
> 
> And thank you to Jon, who checked all the spellings and told me it wasn't awful. 
> 
> The title is Florence and the Machine because I found the song really captured what I thought regarding Castiel while I wrote.

 

“Do we have a deal?”

Michael stared across the table at the demon.

It was better than looking at the document in front of him.

He had never imagined that it would come to this. It went against every instinct in his body to be sitting down here, discussing the terms of a peace treaty between his kingdom and the demon’s, but he could not afford this war any longer. It had become clear to him that they were losing. The country could have held out for a few more years, but they could not win. Already there were food shortages; the demons destroyed farm land with their raids and there were too few people left tending the crops, too many soldiers and not enough farmers. If Michael pressed on with this war there would be wide spread starvation. The infrastructure of the kingdom was beginning to erode.

For the good of his country, he had to put aside his disgust. He had to accept the treaty.

“We have a deal,” he agreed, picking up his quill and signing his name to the document.

“And Castiel?” the demon asked.

“I will talk to him,” Michael said sharply. “I won’t promise him to you without his consent.”

The Demon nodded.

“I wouldn’t want him without his consent,” he said, picking up his quill. He dipped the nib into a nearby inkwell and signed his name with a flourish.

_Dean, Son of Winchester._

**

There was a knock on the door.

Castiel set down the book he was reading, looking up expectantly, but the door didn’t open. After a moment the knocking came again, a little louder this time.

“Come in,” Castiel called, realizing that whoever was behind the door, they were not going to enter until he invited them.

The door opened and his brother Michael stepped in.

“Michael!” Castiel cried happily, jumping to his feet. He moved quickly, crossing the space between them in three wide strides before he was in his brother’s embrace.

It seemed like an age since Michael had left home to begin the long process of peace talks with the demons. Castiel assumed when he returned, it would be heralded throughout the kingdom. He would never have expected Michael to just quietly appear as he had done, but he was grateful to see his brother home safe nevertheless. Michael had changed in his time away. The dark circles under his eyes and the pensive, pursed expression that Castiel remembered were gone. That gave him hope that Michael returned with good news regarding the negotiations.

Michael hugged him close, his wings moving to wrap around the two of them, enveloping Castiel in a haze of white. Castiel had always been envious of his eldest brother’s wings. They were beautiful - big, white and gleaming. Michael looked every inch the king he was when his wings were stretched out. He cut an intimidating figure, more so than Castiel could with his small, unassuming black wings. Even now Castiel tucked his wings in tight to his back, hiding them under the strong embrace of his brother’s feathers.

“I missed you,” Michael said softly.

“And I missed you, but you’re home now,” Castiel said, so pleased to be able to say those words. “Tell me everything. How did the talks go?”

Michael uncurled his wings from around Castiel, stepping back from his brother.

“Let me groom you wings,” he said. “I have only just come home, Castiel. Let me sit with you and I’ll tell you everything.”

Castiel nodded. He fetched his grooming brush from his bedside table and handed it to his brother. Then he seated himself on his bed, facing away from Michael, his wings stretched out.

He felt the bed dip as Michael moved to sit behind him. For as long as Castiel could remember, Michael had taken a great deal of comfort from grooming his siblings wings. It was a gesture of closeness, of familiarity. Michael’s touch had always been paternal. He had taken on the mantel of father as well as King when he ascended to the throne, and this had been one of the ways in which he’d fostered that bond with Castiel and the others. Castiel hardly remembered his parents, but he remembered Michael carefully grooming his wings, comforting Castiel with his gentle touch and calming presence.

For a long moment they sat in silence, Michael gently stroking the brush through Castiel’s feathers, Castiel closing his eyes and enjoying the closeness of his much missed brother.

“We are at peace,” Michael said suddenly, his hand stilling. “The talks are over. There will be no more war.”

Castiel turned to look at him, his eyes wide, almost disbelieving. He had wanted this war over for so long, but he had never imagined the Demons would agree to it. Even before Castiel was born, their kingdom had been at war with the demons. Castiel’s father and the late demon King, John, had plunged their kingdoms into a ceaseless battle for dominance, and there had been no change in direct when Michael took the reigns. How could there be? As much as Castiel had wished for peace, he knew John would have seen their request to stop the fighting as a sign of weakness. He would have destroyed them. But then John had died, and his eldest son, Dean, had been crowned. Dean, the demons’ king, was said to be as bloodthirsty as his father had been, but maybe that was not the case. It could not be the case if what Michael was saying was true. Dean had not only agreed to peace talks, but he had agreed to peace.

“How did you manage it? Was it difficult?”

“It was not as difficult as I imagined it would be. Dean was proud, but he cares for his people. The Demons seem to have suffered almost as much as we have. Once we arranged the formalities, once we agreed neither of our kingdoms could be declared to have won the war, it was simple to agree our treaty.”

Michael didn’t sound as joyful as Castiel expected him to. All of this was wonderful news, the sort of news Castiel had thought they could only dream of, but Michael sounded nervous.

“What is it?” Castiel asked. “There is something you’re not telling me, Michael.”

Michael sighed. “We have been at war so long, Castiel. Far too long. Both Dean and I agreed that, but we could not agree that everyone in our kingdoms would feel that way. We both knew there was always the risk of fighting starting again, of our rivalry spilling over into bloodshed. We had to find a way to stop our countries being rivals, to make them a unit.”

Castiel nodded. He thought he understand where this conversation was going.

“Are you and Dean to marry?” he asked.

Michael barked out a laugh.

“You have not met Dean,” he said with mirth. “That is not something he would consider. No, no. I am to marry his brother.”

Castiel swallowed. His mouth suddenly felt dry.

“And who is Dean to marry?” he asked.

All the happiness vanished from Michael’s face.

“He has asked for you.”

“And you told him?”

“I told him I would ask you. That I would not give you away without your consent.”

Castiel stood up abruptly.

He walked away from his brother, unable to look at him, turning the idea over and over in his mind. How could he marry a Demon? He had grown up in fear of them, of their raids and their cruelty. How could he ever leave his home to live with one of them? It was unthinkable.

“Castiel, you know I would not ask this of you if it was not so important,” Michael said, his voice strained.

Castiel held his hand up, stopping his brother’s words. He did not want to hear about how this had been discussed and debated, how Michael had come to the conclusion that bartering Castiel away was the best choice for them all. Castiel did not consider the Demon boy who was in the same position, the one who would be marrying Michael. His thoughts were consumed completely by his own predicament.

Castiel did not even know Dean, only his reputation, and yet he was being asked to make a choice that would see him wedded to the Demon. Castiel would be expected to bear him children. From what little Castiel knew about Demons, he knew that they were not monogamous. Castiel would be the first, or maybe even the second, in a possibly endless line of spouses. It all seemed monstrous and Castiel’s first impulse was to say no. He fought that impulse down and made himself think of the situation outside of his own, selfish feelings.

His kingdom was suffering. The people were not safe. They had spent so much on war, they had lost so many to it, and now they had a chance at peace. If he turned down the request for his hand, he could be dooming them to the war beginning all over again. Dean might choose another of Michael’s brothers or sisters to be his consort, but he might just as likely view Castiel’s refusal as an insult and demand retribution in the form of blood.

They had a real chance to begin again, to come out from the shadow of continual, painful war and Castiel would not jeopardise that. His own happiness was unimportant when weighed against the many lives that could be saved and enriched by this union.

He turned back to Michael, holding his head up, radiating certainty as he answered his brother.

“You may tell him that he has my consent. I will marry him.”

**

News of the end of the war, and the engagements which had ended them, spread quickly throughout the kingdom.

Castiel arrived at the Hospital to whispers and furtive glances. His visits had been a cause for gossip when he first started, but that had been a long time ago. Everyone had grown used to the fact that a Prince would come, weekly, to offer his help and support to the war wounded. It had ceased to be gossip, but now with the engagement, Castiel was back to where he had been when he started. He felt alone, removed from the people he was supposed to be help. There was a wall between them now, caused by this arrangement, that Castiel had carefully broken down before.

It had taken the soldiers and their carers so long to stop seeing him as the Prince, and now he was back to where he had begun.

Castiel drew in a deep breath, holding his head high. He ignored the whispers and walked through the hospital, hoping that someone would be brave enough to approach him. The men and women in recovery here had lived through war and trauma. Castiel knew it would not take the too long. The staff - the healers and nurses - that would take longer.

Just as Castiel had thought, it didn’t take long for one of the soldiers to approach him. Castiel had talked to her before. Her name was Hannah. A vicious red scar covered half of her face to show where a Demon’s knife had slashed into her, taking her eye. When he had first met her, Castiel had found her appearance disturbing. He’d been frightened to look at her, but now he greeted her as the old friend she was.

“Hannah,” he said warmly.

“Is it true?” she asked him abruptly. “Are you marrying that monster?”

Castiel felt himself rooted to the spot. He had been pleased to see Hannah, but now he wished he had seen anyone else. It hadn’t occurred to him that anyone would be angry about his future marriage. He thought they’d see it exactly as he had - a necessary evil, especially when it stopped the war that had caused Hannah such a horrific injury.

“Yes,” he said. “I am marrying Dean. It was arranged. The peace treaty…”

Hannah cut him off. “You can’t do it. They’re all monsters, every one of those demons. The only thing they understand is pain. He’ll hurt you.”

Castiel swallowed, taking a step back.

“It’s been arranged,” he said, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

Hannah grabbed hold of his hands. She clutched them tightly, looking at him determinedly with her one good eye.

“I know what they’re like. I saw it first hand. He will shred you like silk, your Highness, and bathe in your blood.”

Castiel trembled. Hannah would know better than anyone else, certainly better than Michael who had never been on the battlefield.

“I have to do it,” he whispered. “We have to have peace. We need to have peace.”

Hannah’s grip on his hands tightened. It was almost painful now.

“Then I hope you know you’re going to die for peace,” she hissed.

 

**

The Demons arrived less than a week later. Castiel had hoped to have more time to prepare himself. In fact, he had hoped that his agreement was all that might be required of him, that a real marriage wasn’t needed when a symbolic one would do just as well. He could sign a piece of paper, make a vow and then continue on with the life he already lived - celibate, under the care of his brother, with no thoughts towards marriage or children or the duties of a consort. That was not to be the case however. The Demons who arrived brought with them their wedding finery, festooned with gifts to bestow on the future husband of their King.

Castiel watched them arriving from his bedroom window. There seemed to be so many of them, and they came in great carriages of bronze and gold, or riding beasts with large tusks from which dripped golden chains. It was a show of opulence, a show of how little the war had dented the great reserves the Demons had. Their land and their mines were still fertile with jewels and precious metals.

They could have funded another hundred years, maybe even another thousand years of war, but they had chosen peace. Castiel could not help but wonder why. A cold, treacherous part of him whispered that this whole thing was a trick. The demons had no intention of going through with the arrangement. They had come here, had made this treaty, with the express purpose of gaining Michael’s trust and setting him at ease. Once they were inside the citadel, the treacherous voice whispered, it would be a massacre.

Castiel tried to ignore that voice, but he could not help noticing how many of the demons came carrying swords. They were ornamental, bedecked with jewels and almost certainly too heavy and cumbersome to be used in a real fight, but Castiel still worried. Even Michael’s reassurances that they were traditional did nothing to sway Castiel’s fears.

He did not want to marry into a bloodline where it was traditional to be armed at all times and for any occasion.

**

Castiel met his future husband the day after the Demons arrived.

He rose early, woken by servants whose job it was to dress him and present him to the world. Every inch of him was polished and preened, even the parts that Dean would not see until their wedding night. Castiel knew that this first sight of him must take Dean’s breath away. He knew how important it was, how important he was, in this situation. He was a substitute for the kingdom and he had to embody it - the mountains, the rivers, the fertile farming lands. He had to be everything and yet still himself. There was only so much the servants could do, but they did their best with Castiel. He hardly recognised himself when he looked in the mirror.

His robes were extraordinary. They shifted between white and the palest, icy blue as the light caught them. Castiel found himself swaying as he walked, enjoying the patterns that rippled over the fabric. His hair had been curled, artfully tousled in a way he would never be able to recreat. His lips had been made pinker, his eyes lined, his skin powdered. His wings had been brushed and every feather carefully smoothed down and held in place with sweetly scented oils. Then, carefully, pearls and sapphires had been fastened with spider web fine silver thread across them. Truly, Castiel looked beautiful. He could not stop looking at himself when he caught glimpses. He did not want to be admired only for his beauty, did not want his Demon husband to only want him for that, but that did not stop him from acknowledging that he _was_ beautiful.

In his current clothes, made up like this, he could be the subject of poetry and song. Castiel had no doubt that there would be ballads composed about this day. They would praise his piety and his beauty and bemoan his fate. It would be a tragedy, the words written about him, cursing and wailing the future that had befallen him - whisked away from his home to be the bride of their enemy. Castiel would be martyred in poetry, eternally fated for the pains he’d endured for his country. Little children would learn of him and what he’d done. Castiel found himself enjoying that thought. There was a strange sort of glamour in his situation.

He was still admiring himself when Michael came to collect him.

His brother’s gasp was gratifying. There were few things that made Michael speechless. Castiel knew his brother would have been involved in planning his outfit, but evidently Michael had not imagined Castiel would look as striking as he did.

He took his brother’s arm, smiling at him.

“You look beautiful,” Michael said.

“I know,” Castiel agreed.

He would be immortalised as this. Long after everything else was forgotten, long after history had turned into myth, the moment his Demon-husband first laid eyes on him would be remembered. It might be embellished, it might be enhanced, but it would be remembered. Castiel would be remembered.

“Castiel…” Michael started, but Castiel shushed him.

“I made my choice, Michael,” he said, relishing the part he was playing. “I know what my future will be.”

“Dean isn’t as bad as you might think” Michael murmured.

Castiel frowned. He did not want Michael to try to diminish the sacrifice he was making. He was enjoying himself, wallowing in being a tragic beauty, and he did not want his brother to try to make things easier for him.

“He’s a Demon,” Castiel said flatly.

“Yes,” Michael agreed, “But he wanted peace and he isn’t...Castiel, we’ve been at war since before you were born. You’ve never known the Demons as anything but our enemy. I just want you to understand that while we have differences, we also share many similarities.”

Castiel did not know what to say to that. He couldn’t deny that the war was older than he was, but that didn’t mean anything. Michael seemed to be imply that he was simple-minded, that he could be blinded by prejudice, but this wasn’t a prejudice. Castiel knew the Demons were bloodthirsty, violent and cruel. He had seen their destruction with his own eyes. He had tended to those wounded in their attacks. He knew the cost in lives and property that the demons had wrought upon them.

How Michael could suggest that they were similar, Castiel didn’t know. There might be superficial similarities, but that was all. In the most important ways, the ways that truly mattered, they were fundamentally different and nothing could change that.

“Introduce me to my future husband,” he said, choosing to ignore his brother’s attempts at consolidation.

Michael, after all, had partially agreed to this union. He no doubt felt guilty and Castiel wasn’t in the mood to listen to Michael’s attempts to assuage his guilt now.

Michael said nothing. He placed his hand on top of Castiel’s and led his brother from his bedroom, towards the Great Hall. They passed by members of the royal household - servants going about their daily chores, lesser nobles at work - and everyone they met greeted them with the same hushed intake of breath. Castiel was used to people stopping for Michael. He was the King after all, but this was different. Now people were stopping, were gasping, because of him.

By the time they reached the Great Hall, Castiel was filled with confidence. He held his head high, gripped his brother’s arm tight and waited for the doors to open and his name to be announced. He would not be intimidated by the thought of the Demons beyond the door. He would not be scared of meeting his future husband. He would be strong and the Demon would see the true steel that ran through the veins of all angels. He would see that he was not getting a simpering, frightened creature. He would see that he was getting Castiel.

“His Excellency, King Michael and His Highness, Prince Castiel,” the herald announced as the doors to the Great Hall were opened wide.

For a moment, Castiel felt as if he couldn’t breathe. The confidence he had embodied a moment before was stripped away. There were so many people looking at him, so many strangers, so many Demons. The room was completely silent. Everyone was looking at Castiel and they were judging him.

Michael squeezed his hand gently and the moment was over. Castiel breathed deeply and held his head up, imperiously surveying the room.

There was a small commotion in one corner, a man pushing himself forward through the stunned and silent crowd. Castiel focused on him. He was handsome, with a sharp jaw and high cheek bones. His hair was a sandy brown, cut shorter than the styles in the Angelic court. There were horns growing from his head, two jutting great horns the colour of bronze. He was well dressed, his clothes in red and black impeccably crafted, and the sword that dangled from his belt was studded with rubies. His tail, an appendage he used to great effect to help him with his progress through the crowds, was long and black, ending in a diamond shaped point. Castiel would never have imagined he’d find a Demon handsome, but studying the man purely aesthetically, he did not think there was another fitting description for him.

Then, just as suddenly as the man had started, he stopped. He stood with his legs planted firmly, hands balled into fists.

“Move!” he barked out the command with the confidence of a man who was used to being obeyed.

“Oh” Castiel said quietly as the crowd parted.

This, he realized even before the man reached, must be his intended. The only person in the entire room who had not been spellbound by Castiel’s appearance.

The Demon arrived before them, a smile stretching over his face as he looked first at Michael and then to Castiel. There was no way Castiel could mistake the pleasure on the Demon’s face as he looked Castiel over. He was pleased with his prize.

“Michael,” the Demon greeted, nodding his head towards the King. “You must introduce me formally to your brother.”

“Dean, this is Castiel, my brother and your betrothed,” Michael said, ushering Castiel forward and releasing his hold on him.

Castiel stood for a moment between the two men before Dean stepped forward to offer his arm as escort. Castiel took it without hesitation, aware that this was his role now and that, however uncertain he might be, he would not be alone with Dean just yet. They could hardly be truly alone in a room filled with people. He would be safe in the Demon’s escort as long as they were within the walls of the Citadel. Castiel could at least learn a little about his future husband during this time without the pressures that would come later.

“Where is Adam?” Michael asked.

“I am here, my Lord,” a voice answered.

The boy who came towards them now was unlike anyone else Castiel had ever seen. He knew of Demon’s only as violent, dangerous thugs. He had never realized they could be as beautiful as this boy. This Adam would never have been a soldier or part of a raiding party. He looked delicate, with small horns and a whip thin tail, hair like spun gold and wide blue eyes. His clothing could hardly be called that - delicate wisps of cream coloured fabric, held in place with intricate clasps of ruby and gold, covered the intimate parts of his anatomy, but nothing else. He was dressed to draw attention, much as Castiel was; but the difference between the way they had achieved it could not be more marked.

Castiel could not imagine Michael married to this boy, and yet even now Michael was stepping forward to take the boy’s hands, smiling widely at him. Castiel knew his brother well enough to tell that the smile was completely natural and unforced. There was nothing of the statesman here now. He was delighted to be in Adam’s company.

“You look beautiful,” Michael said.

He had said the same words to Castiel when he had seen Castiel in his outfit, but the difference between the meaning in those words could not have been more marked to Castiel’s ear. When Michael had looked on him he had been proud of Castiel, of the symbolism he had embodied. When he looked at Adam, it was as a man.

“You look beautiful too,” Dean said softly, startling Castiel who had almost forgotten the Demon at his side. He had been so transfixed by the demon boy and his brother. He looked at Dean, taking in the sight of him so close.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Up close, Dean was even more handsome. If he was not a Demon, Castiel would have thought him the most attractive man he had ever seen.

“I feel as if I have been waiting for this moment for a long time,” Dean said, smiling warmly at him. “I’m glad I can finally meet you.”

Castiel was aware that the silence that had accompanied his entrance to the grand hall was over now. People were talking, milling around. He and Dean were being watched, they could not escape that, but it was no longer every eye in the room that looked on them. This was as private a conversation as he was likely to get with Dean before their wedding.

“I have been thinking about this day as well,” he said carefully.

He did not say that he had been dreading it, or dreading meeting Dean, and from the way Dean’s smile continued, it did not seem to have crossed his mind that Castiel might not be best pleased about this meeting.

Castiel glanced back towards his brother and the Demon boy. Their heads were bowed together, the two of them talking in low, hushed tones. Michael’s wings were encircling them, the distance respectful, not completely obscuring them from view, but it was obvious that Michael wanted to keep Adam to himself, to embrace him in the security of his wings. Castiel could not remember ever having seen his brother behave like this. It was not the done thing, especially not with someone he had only had the most superficial of introductions to.

"They seem to have bonded quickly," he said.

Dean followed his eye and smiled when he realized what Castiel was looking at.

"This is not the first time they've met. Things are different where I come from. Adam was very much part of my council. Your brother met him many times during our negotiations. When this arrangement was suggested, Michael requested Adam for his mate."

"And Adam didn't object?" Castiel asked.

As he asked, he saw that Adam’s tail was moving, entwining around Michael’s leg. Another intimate, possessive gesture that Castiel was not prepared for.

"No, the interest was mutual. I think he would have offered himself if Michael hadn't got there first," Dean said with a soft chuckle.

Castiel considered this. He had consented to be Dean's mate, but he had not imagined he had a lot of choice in the matter. His hand had been requested. It would have been an insult to refuse and to force Dean to make another choice. Castiel had accepted the offer of marriage because it was the right thing for the kingdom, not because he knew anything about Dean.

It might have been an easier choice to make if he had been able to meet Dean first as an equal, but it was not the done thing. Castiel could never have accompanied Michael to the peace talks.

"And how did you come to choose me?" he asked, keeping his voice level even though he craved to know the answer.

Dean turned to look at him. His eyes were very green.

"Michael told me about all of you, he showed me the paintings of your brothers and sisters. You were very beautiful."

Castiel's heart sank. That was what he'd imagined. Dean had chosen him because he liked the way Castiel looked.

"So," Dean continued. "I asked to know more about you. He told me about your work with the war wounded, your kindness and the fact that you pushed him before anyone to consider peace with my country. I thought you would make a good ruler. I thought you would be good for us."

That thoughtful answer had not been what Castiel expected. He found himself staring at Dean, surprised to hear that although Dean had been interested in his beauty, he had still put the good of his country before the stirrings of his loins. That was not a trait Castiel had associate with Demons. He'd thought of them as base creatures, drive by low desires. He had certainly not expected that Castiel’s desire for peace would have appealed to Dean.

Dean took hold of Castiel’s hand, bringing it to his mouth to gently kiss. It sent a thrill through Castiel. He felt as his the spot on the back of his hand were Dean’s lips had touched was on fire. No one in all his life had ever touched him in such a way. It was an innocent enough gesture, but it made Castiel want to squirm, worried about prying eyes. He could not believe how such a touch could affect him, but he saw on Dean’s face that the Demon was more than aware of the effect it had had. His eyes had darkened, his breathing deepened.

“I hope our marriage will be a fruitful one,” Dean said, his voice low and filled with meaning.

Castiel bit his lip, not trusting himself to say anything.

**

The wedding ceremony was a long and lavish affair, but Castiel hardly took in a moment of it. The day was too hot, the robes he wore too tight. He had to stand for what felt like an eternity, had to listen to the monotonous voice of the high priest as he droned on and on about the sanctity of marriage, the strength of the union created between the two great Kingdoms. Castiel pursed his lips imagining the sanctity that awaited him in the Demon Kingdom. There would be other mates, other marriages. Castiel would be one of many.

Castiel spoke only once during the whole affair and only then to affirm his consent to the marriage. Otherwise, he was silent.

Michael wed Adam in the same ceremony. Castiel envied the Demon boy. He would have a kind marriage, a respectful marriage. Michael would never bring another into their marriage bed. Even if this was not what Michael had wanted, not the sort of marriage he had envisioned for himself, he would never disrespect Adam by turning to another. That was something Castiel had already given up any hope of. He knew his marriage wouldn’t be a loving one, but at least it could have been something else, something not be dreaded. When Dean took his hand, when he held it tightly and promised himself to Castiel, Castiel knew that one day he would make the same promise to another. There would be another ceremony, another standing in Castiel’s place, another who Dean would vow to.

Another that Dean would kiss as he kissed Castiel, surprisingly gentle, but lighting a fire in Castiel’s belly that spread through his whole body. If the touch of Dean’s hand had been bad enough, the kiss was worse. It made Castiel realise that he could give himself to Dean, that he could want Dean. It made him realize that he would be hurt the most by this marriage. He would be vulnerable to Dean, to his handsome face and his charming voice, to his kisses. It would hurt him so much when Dean took another, it would hurt him to share Dean. He was already certain that he - the boy forced on Dean by a treaty, by necessity - would never be the favorite.

**

There was very little time for Castiel to adjust to being married before he had to adjust to leaving his home and his family behind.

The Demons left as soon as Castiel was legally tied to their King, taking Castiel with them. No one was concerned with the formalities of a wedding breakfast, or the sorts of festivities Castiel thought such a prestigious wedding deserved. He would have planned a whole week, a whole month, of parties and feasts and any form of entertainment he could think of to let him stay a little longer in his home, but that was not to be.

In truth, he knew that it was not something that the Kingdom could have afforded. Feasts and parties while their people were going hungry would have been a cruelty that would not be forgotten. This was not a wedding in a time of peace. It was not a happy union. This was a necessity, and it had to be treated as such. Michael had done what he could to put on a good show, to not reveal how much the country was hurting from the war, but there was only so much that they could support and wedding had been it.

Castiel, and all the worldly goods he now had to his name, was placed in one of the ornate gold carriages the Demons had arrived in and then the wedding party left. Castiel was alone in the carriage. His husband did not ride with him. He rode up front on one of the great beasts. Castiel tried not to take Dean’s decision as an insult.

**

It was the middle of the night when they arrived in the Demon’s capital. Castiel had fallen asleep, lulled by the motion of the carriage as it trundled along, but as soon as the motion ceased he was awake.

The door of his carriage opened and all of Castiel’s fears rushed back to him at once, but it was Dean who appeared, offering his hand to Castiel, beckoning him to step outside.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” he said. “We’ve arrived and I thought you would prefer to sleep in your own bed.”

“I was awake,” Castiel said, cautiously setting his hand in Dean’s.

A bed.

Castiel knew that his marriage to Dean would need to be consummated. He was not naive, but they had been travelling all day. He would have thought Dean would be tired, that he might want to wait a little while, to know something of Castiel before he bedded him, but it appeared that was not the case. Castiel supposed it might be easier this was - he thought Dean was attractive, Dean thought the same of him. There was no sentimental attachment. Sex should be easy, perfunctory. The sooner Castiel was bedded, the sooner he would produce an heir, the better for all of them.

He stepped down out of the carriage, looking around himself, but it was too dark - even with the light of the torches - to make out his surroundings in any detail.

“This way,” Dean said, ushering him across the courtyard and to a door. From there, it was up a flight of narrow, tight steps. Castiel was glad he had Dean’s hand to hold. He tried to remember where he was, but in the darkness, in an unknown place, his feet felt useless.

There had been no one to greet them, no happy chorus of countrymen welcoming their King home. It was the middle of the night and there were all in bed. Dean had slipped Castiel into the Kingdom under the cover of nightfall.

Tomorrow, Castiel reflected, Dean could meet his people with the knowledge that he had claimed and mounted his war trophy. That might be what the demons wanted. He doubted they would care very much for meeting Castiel himself. After all, Castiel would not rule with Dean as an equal mate, but as one of many. Castiel was not an individual in this marriage, but soon to be part of a collective.

Dean led him along one hallway, then another, before finally they came to stop next to a solid oak door.

“When I knew you would be coming, I had this room put aside for you,” Dean said quietly. “I asked my brother Sam to decorate. He has a softer touch than I. You will meet him tomorrow.”

Castiel nodded. He found it sweet that Dean had planned a personalised room for him, had cared enough for what Castiel might like that he had asked for help. In the grand scheme of things, it did not matter what the room Dean took him in looked like - Dean could have had him in the back of the carriage in the courtyard - but that Dean had thought of him made Castiel hopeful that something could be salvaged in their marriage. There could be mutual respect if nothing else.

Dean opened the door and waited for Castiel to enter first.

Once again, Castiel found that the darkness of the room prevented him from seeing too much detail, but from what he could see, he found the room very much to his standards. It was light, airy. The furniture appeared to be of the same style as the angelic court. It must have been imported, or commissioned, because Castiel knew it was not a popular style within the borders of the Demon kingdom. There were shades of sky blue, of pearl and silver. It was a memory of home and Castiel felt instantly more relaxed as he stepped foot inside.

“Do you like it?” Dean asked. He stood in the doorway, looking nervous.

Castiel could not understand why he would be nervous. He was the King. His happiness would always rank as more important than Castiel’s.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Yes, it is a beautiful room. I will be very happy here.”

Dean looked relieved. He stepped inside the room, taking Castiel’s hands in his own.

“I’m glad. I did not want to make you feel unwelcome or homesick.”

Castiel was once again struck by how different Dean was to what he imagined. He found himself unable to voice his feelings regarding the room, regarding the care Dean had already shown over him. He forced himself to think instead of what would happen inside the room, of his duty that as yet was unfilled.

“How would you like me?” he asked. “I have heard that your custom is to take your men from behind. Do you want me like that?”

Castiel fancied that it might be easier to get down on his hand and knees and let Dean have his pleasure.

Dean stared at him.

“Or would you like something else?” Castiel asked, feeling as if he was venturing into an area in which he was hopelessly out of his depth. “I have no knowledge in this area, my Lord. You will have to tell me what you want from me.”

“Nothing,” Dean said quickly. “I want nothing from you.”

Castiel furrowed his brow in confusion.

“I don’t understand. Our marriage...we must…”

“We are married, Castiel. We have exchanged our vows and we are legally bound. That is all that matters,” Dean said.

Castiel felt sick.

Dean had what he needed. He had Castiel and an end to the war, but that was all he wanted. He did not need anything else from him. He had given Castiel this beautiful room, but out of pity. Castiel was undesired, unwanted. Castiel knew he should be relieved, delighted by the fact that he would not have to perform any of the duties of a mate, but he could not make himself feel that way. He did find Dean attractive. He would not have minded if Dean wanted to bed him. He could have enjoyed it, even if there was no love between them, only physical attraction, but now he knew that he was not going to have even that.

He was just a symbol. A symbol who would be locked away and forgotten about.

There might already be another willing body in Dean’s bed, waiting for the King’s return. Another who Dean would soon marry, would soon crown and love and devote himself to. Another who was not Castiel, who was not a millstone around Dean’s neck, a mate forced on him by necessity.

“I don’t understand,” he said quietly, trying to keep the upset from his voice.

Dean smiled at him. Castiel saw pity in his eyes.

“I know you did not really want this marriage, Castiel, but I spoke to your brother and he told me you were pious and chaste. You will never be troubled by me, by my desires.”

Castiel swallowed, feeling his cheeks flame and his eyes prickle.

He had been pious and chaste, but he had also never been with anyone like Dean. He had never felt the spark of attraction he felt when he held Dean’s hand or had Dean’s kisses. There had never been a suitor who Castiel had entertained, and he had never considered dishonoring his family name and line by seeking out a lover who inflamed his otherwise docile and dormant desire. That did not mean he did not feel desire, just that he had contained himself. It had not been as important as everything else, especially not when there was the war.

Dean squeezed his hands tightly, misunderstanding Castiel’s upset.

“I won’t dishonour you. I will follow your customs. I won’t take another in marriage.”

Castiel began to cry then, tears rolling down his cheeks. A few moments ago, he would have been so happy to hear that Dean intended to have Castiel as his only, but now he knew it was because Dean thought he was appeasing Castiel’s sense of duty and piety. Dean would still have lovers. Castiel did not doubt that. Dean would have others and he would love them, but he would not love Castiel - either physically or emotionally. He had never intended to try.

Dean let his hands drop slowly, looking confused at Castiel’s reaction.

“I should let you sleep,” he said after a moment in which Castiel cried silently. “You’ve had a lot to take in over the last few days. I didn’t...I’m sorry if anything I said has upset you.”

He left then, shutting the door behind him and Castiel continued to cry.

It was beautiful room Dean had made for him, a beautiful cage in which Castiel would wither. He was nothing now - not a mate, not the dutiful son he had been at home, not a consort or a virgin. He was only a symbol. He had been utterly consumed by this union of two kingdoms.

**

Dean drew a deep breath as the door swung shut behind him.

He knew that Castiel would be happy to hear that Dean did not expect their marriage to be consummated, but he hadn’t expected Castiel to cry. Dean was certain they had been tears of joy, but it was still uncomfortable to stand there watching them. It was especially uncomfortable as Castiel was weeping with relief that he would not join Dean in his bed. Dean had known that his choice in mate would mean a sexless, loveless marriage, but it still stung to see how complete the rejection was.

Castiel was very brave. Even though he did not want Dean, he had offered himself for the good of their treaty. It turned Dean’s stomach to think of bedding anyone who did not want his attentions, but he could not fault Castiel’s courage.

Dean had made his choice carefully when he picked Castiel. He could never have forced someone into his bed, and Castiel - pious and chaste, an innocent who cared for his country more than his personal pleasure - had seemed the obvious choice. They would both be relieved that there was no requirement to mate. Dean could take his pleasure outside of the marriage bed, and Castiel could devote himself to whatever took his fancy. Dean knew when he made his vows that he would not marry anyone else but Castiel. It was the angel’s custom and he would prove to Castiel that he respected him by adopting it.  
Dean would not have heirs. Not legitimate ones.

He could pass his crown to Sam, or on to the children that might result from Adam and Michael’s union.

There was no fear in Dean’s heart that Adam did not want his marriage or his husband’s attentions.

It was not perfect, and his advisors would be unhappy, but it was the best way to ensure stability. Dean had done the right thing for his Kingdom. From the moment he had assumed the crown, he had known he would never marry for love. He had known any marriage he had - demonic or otherwise - would be a power-play. Maybe with Castiel, someone who was prepared to put the good of his Kingdom first, Dean could at least have an equal to rule with.

Footsteps along the passageway startled Dean out of his thoughts and he looked up to see his younger brother Sam, and one his advisors, Crowley, hurrying towards him.

“Is he here?” Sam hissed.

“Yes, but I’ve left him to sleep. You’ll meet him in the morning,” Dean said quietly.

He knew Sam wanted to meet Castiel. He was certain that the two of them could become friends.

Sam had always hated the war. He had always pushed for their father to try to see the good in the angels, to consider the culture he was hell-bent on destroying. Sam would love having an Angel here. He would want to talk about everything - their farming techniques, their medicine, art and literature. Dean did not doubt that they could learn a lot from the angels, but he did not think that Castiel needed to be troubled so soon after his arrival. Let him sleep, let him adjust to his new life and then Sam could bother him with every question he had.

Crowley smiled. It was unpleasant.

“I’m sure you tired him out, your majesty,” he said.

Dean curled his lip, unable to keep his disgust from showing clearly.

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Castiel and I...this is a political marriage. Do you understand that? We will not have children. We will not have sex.”

Crowley looked momentarily uncertain, but it was only for a moment.

“Of course, your majesty. There are many young men and women in the kingdom who would make excellent second mates and bare your children. Your majesty is very wise. No doubt the people would rather celebrate the birth of a pure Demon child, than a mongrel with angel blood.”

Dean bristled.

“There will be no second marriage. No children with anyone,” he snapped.

Crowley looked horrified.

“But it’s tradition. Your father….”

“I don’t care what is traditional or what my father did,” Dean snarled. “I will not marry anyone else. I made my vows to Castiel and this is what his people do. I am honouring my husband and his people.”

Crowley looked at him darkly.

“The people won’t like it.”

“The people or you?” Dean asked.

“You’ll make a lot of enemies. Marriage has kept the factions together,” Crowley said.

“The nobles and their factions would do well to remember that my current marriage has saved them from starvation or death on the battlefield,” Dean said angrily.

“And your youngest brother has been given away to the angels too, you cannot even give him to them to quell the anger,” Crowley said. “That used to be customary too.”

Dean closed his eyes breathing deeply.

If a king could not, or would not, produce an heir, then a member of royal blood could become a broodmare for the other nobles. Whichever seed took, that was the family that gained a child seated upon the throne and ascension over the others. It was vicious, the sort of thing that Dean wanted to do away with. It might have been something they’d done once, before Dean had ever been born, but it was not something they would ever do again.

Adam was safe, far away, he reminded himself, and Crowley was only trying to goad him.

“Of course, we do still have Sam,” Crowley continued. “He’s never shown any inclination towards childbearing, but I’m certain that won’t stop some of the families from trying.”

Dean grabbed him by his throat and slammed him against the wall.

“Dean!” Sam yelped.

“You speak of my brother like that again and I will kill you,” Dean hissed.

“Dean, stop,” Sam said, tugging on his brother’s arm.

“I will drag you out into the courtyard and cut your head off myself,” Dean said,tightening his hold on Crowley’s throat.

For a second he saw real fear in the man’s eyes, but then Sam succeeded in dragging Dean away, freeing Crowley from his hold and that fear faded. Crowley touched his throat, rubbing at it gingerly and glared at Dean.

“Bed the angel, or marry again,” he said, his voice cracking. “Those are your choices. Do anything else, and you will never have peace.”

Dean snarled at him, sending the man scuttling away, but Crowley’s words rang in his ears.

Things could never be as easy as Dean wanted them to be.

**

Castiel awoke feeling worse than he could remember. His eyes were sore, his head pounding and his whole body felt drained. Sleep had not recharged him, it had just been respite from crying. He lay in bed, listening to the sound of his own breathing, unwilling to open his eyes. He did not want to see the room, the room that had been so carefully decorated to remind him of his home, because he already knew it would make him homesick. He did not want to be here. He did not want any of this to be real.

Before last night, he had at least hoped. He had hoped he could find common ground with Dean, had hoped that they could become something more than simply an arrangement. He had begun to feel things, to think of sex and desire, to want them. He had begun to want Dean.

Castiel breathed in deeply, screwing his eyes up tighter than before.

He could pretend that duty and his country were the reasons he had been willing to submit to Dean, but that was a not the entire truth. He had been excited by the thought of Dean, and being taken by him. The knowledge that the arrangement between their two continues made Castiel’s desire acceptable had soothed him. It was not wrong to want a Demon like Dean if it was Castiel’s duty to go to bed with him.

But then Dean had told him he did not want him.

Castiel whimpered.

His carefully construction reasoning had fallen apart at that moment. It had left him feeling stripped bare, his heart exposed. From the moment he had met Dean, Castiel had wanted him. He’d been pleased by his future husband. He had been scared about the prospect of leaving his home but willing to enter fully into married life. The fact that Dean was a Demon had been no barrier to Castiel’s desire. He had assumed Dean did not have any qualms about taking an angel for his mate. He had assumed Dean had been willing, had desired Castiel.

Then last night, he had been given a horrible shock.

Castiel whimpered again, louder this time.

There was a knock on the door and Castiel opened his eyes.

Of course, he would not be allowed to dwell in his disappointment and regret. He had responsibilities.

He sat up, rubbing at his face, hoping that he could make himself look a little presentable.

“Come in,” he called.

For a moment he was recalled to another day, another bedroom, another knock on his door.

Whoever was behind the door, they could hardly be bringing him news that would change his life more than it already had been.

The door opened slowly.

Castiel had expected servants - someone to wash him, pick out his clothes, demand he eat and prepare himself for the day ahead. He had not expected Dean to be the one who appeared.

For a second, Castiel wondered if Dean had realized the things he’d said last night were a mistake. He was not certain that now - tired, eyes red rimmed, heart battered - was the best time for Dean to make advances towards him, but after a moment, he dismissed that thought. Dean would not be here for that. Dean had made it clear the night before what he expected their relationship to be.

“Do you need me?” Castiel asked.

There would be matters of state to attend to. There were always matters of state to attend to.

“No, not until later. We’ll formally present you to the court this evening, there’ll be a feast,” Dean said. “I came to check on you.”

Castiel felt his treacherous heart flutter.

“I’m fine,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded, but Castiel could tell that he didn’t believe him.

He wondered if Dean would would acknowledge that, or pretend he hadn’t realized.

Dean took a few steps towards the bed.

“Did I say something to offend you, Castiel?” he asked quietly. “I know this wasn’t ideal, but I promise you, I will do everything to make your life here comfortable and happy.”

Castiel swallowed. This was his chance to say something, to tell Dean what he really wanted from their marriage. He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t find the words.

Dean sighed. He sat down on the end of the bed, folding his hands in his lap.

“I will do what it takes to make you happy, Castiel,” he said seriously.

Castiel didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. These were the sorts of professions he wanted to hear from Dean, but they came without the love he wanted. Dean wanted to make him happy, but not as a husband. He wanted to make him happy out of pity.

Dean looked away. Castiel was certain he was going to leave now, especially as he wasn’t making the headway he wanted.

“Castiel,” Dean said quietly. “I want us to be friends.”

“Yes,” Castiel said. He was sure Dean did want them to be friends, but that wasn’t what Castiel wanted. He might not be able to tell Dean exactly what he did want, but that didn’t mean he was going to make things easy for Dean. He had made everything easy for everyone else up until now.

“Let me do something for you, let me prove it,” Dean said. “Let me groom your wings. Adam told me that it’s an angel custom. He said it was something Michael talked about, about it promoting unity. Let me do that for you.”

Castiel stared at him.

He could very much imagine that conversation that might have led to Adam’s intimate knowledge of Michael’s wings, and he did not think the unity that Michael had mentioned was the same sort of familial, innocent kind of unity that Castiel was used to. He suspected that Michael and Adam might have started pledging themselves together long before the idea of a marriage for the good of the Kingdoms was ever floated.

Now Dean was sitting across from him, offering what he thought was a gesture of friendship, and Castiel could have laughed, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to humiliate Dean by revealing the truth to him.

“Castiel, will you let me?” Dean prompted, looking at him hopefully.

Castiel sat up straight, unfurling his wings. He had kept them tucked in while he slept, but now he stretched them out, letting Dean see them in their full glory.

“If you want to,” he said softly. “You may groom them.”

Dean moved forward. His first touches were tentative, brushing over the top layer of feathers. Castiel doubted Dean had ever seen an Angel's wings this close. He hoped that he never had. Castiel had heard stories of torture - of Demons pulling out feathers one by one. He had seen the blooded stumps of Angels who had lost their wings in the war. The idea that Dean could have been the one to do that was something Castiel never wanted to believe, especially when Dean’s current touches were so gentle.

“Your wings are very beautiful,” Dean murmured. “The colour of them is so different to the other angels I’ve met.”

“They’re not beautiful,” Castiel said. “If they were white, that would be different.”

“No, they are beautiful,” Dean insisted. “They mark you out as unique.”

His fingers delved deeper, below the top feathers to the sensitive, downy feathers below. Castiel bit his lip, stifling a moan.

He turned his head away, ashamed. He should never have agreed to this.

“Sensitive, huh?” Dean asked softly. His fingers didn’t still, but continued to stroke though Castiel’s feathers, making Castiel want to throw himself down on the bed and offer himself - and his wings - to Dean.

Castiel nodded.

“This is very different to the grooming I’m used to,” he murmured, mustering all of the concentration he had to answer Dean.

“Oh,” Dean said.

He stopped and Castiel breathed more easily, lowering his wings. He hadn’t expected Dean’s fingers to be so talented or to have such an effect on him. He had heard that grooming heightened a mated pairs bond together, but he had never imagined it would be in such a sensual way.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, dropping his hands back down to his lap. “I didn’t realise that was…” he trailed off, then laughed suddenly. “That explains why Adam was so interested in it.”

“I liked it,” Castiel said. His voice was barely more than a whisper. “I liked you touching me.”

Dean stared at him.

He stood up abruptly.

Once again, just like the night before, he strode to the door, opened it and disappeared out into the hallway.

Castiel wrapped his wings tightly around himself, shaking and sick to his stomach.

**

Dean looked down at his hands, unable to believe what he had just done.

He had promised Castiel that their relationship would never be sexual. He had told him he expected nothing from him. He had said all of that, but his actions had proved the opposite.

He had wanted to touch Castiel’s wings since the first moment he’d seen him, standing beautiful and stunning, in the Great Hall. They were so thick and black, unlike Michael’s huge white wings or the grey silver of the soldier angels he had met. Castiel had been unique. He had looked like no one else and Dean had felt his heart leap. He had meant his marriage to be political and brisk, but he couldn’t deny that in that moment, in their first meeting, he had felt a spark of desire.

Now he had succumbed to that desire. Castiel had trembled under his touch, his eyes dark with lust, his lips half-open, panting for breath, and Dean had wanted him. He’d wanted to take him, claim him and make their marriage official in all ways.

Then Castiel had told him he liked it, that he enjoyed what Dean was doing, and that had brought Dean back to his senses.

Castiel was acting on instinct, on the pleasure of having his wings stroked and petted. He didn’t really want Dean. He didn’t really want anyone. Dean was certain of that and he wasn’t going to use Castiel’s biology against him. He wasn’t going to trick Castiel into wanting him.

There could never be anything between them, and Dean would make himself accept that. He would leave Castiel alone, let him settle into his new home without Dean’s influence over him. Time spent apart could only be good for Dean. It would quell this desire growing in him. Dean would make sure of that.

He would cancel the feast. There would be no public introduction of Castiel, no forced intimacy for the two of them to endure. He would focus on matters of State. There were so many of those to keep his mind occupied with, and he would not trouble his young husband further.

**

The next day, Castiel was woken by servants. He had dearly hoped that Dean might come to him again, but he had known it was unlikely. The night before a nervous young Demon had entered his room to tell him that the formal dinner Dean had talked of had been canceled. He had brought Castiel dinner on a tray and made Castiel feel as if he was a prisoner in his bedroom, although he very much doubted that was the intention.

The servants washed and dressed him, their hands clawing and harsh as they manhandled him. The rough comb used on Castiel’s hair pulled, leaving Castiel biting his lip to keep from crying out. He would not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing his pain, nor of allowing them to know he felt anything at all. At the end, when the servants job when done, Castiel looked presentable. The fashions were more Demonic than he was used to, more revealing than he would have liked, but again he did not show his discomfort.

After dressing, his was escorted from his bedroom, down the twisting hallways and corridors of the palace, and to a grand dining room. It was there the servants left him.

Castiel had expected to see his husband in the room, but the only man at the long table was not a man that Castiel recognised. He was a handsome man, with long dark hair and warm hazel eyes. The horns that sprouted from his head looked as if they could have been carved from wood. He was tanned and muscular, and when he stood to greet Castiel, it was clear he was taller even than Dean, a great giant of a demon. He greeted Castiel with a warm smile, clasping both his hands in his.

“You must be Castiel,” he said, and he sounded pleased by the fact. “I am Sam, Dean’s brother.”

Castiel knew that the old Demon King had had three sons - Dean, his heir, Adam who had only really become known to Castiel due to the recent arrangements, and a third son who was hardly talked of. Castiel would never have imagined Sam if he had been tasked with picturing the unknown third son. Sam looked like a warrior, but the hands that held Castiel’s were gentle and soft. There was something in his eyes as well, something that seemed so kind that Castiel found himself instantly at ease.

“It is a pleasure to meet you too, my Lord,” he said, and it was not simply politeness that made him say that. He felt in Sam that he might possibly have found a Demon he could tolerate. “Will Dean be joining us?”

Sam looked away guilty. He was not a good liar. His body betrayed him before he could speak.

“I’m afraid Dean had some urgent business to attend to and could not be with us,” he said. “He sends his regards and asked me to take care of you. I am at your disposal entirely.”

Castiel nodded. Dean was avoiding him then. He had suspected that would be the case. The incident the day before had been painfully awkward, but he had still hoped that Dean would want to see him.

Castiel was a better liar than Sam, however. He hid his disappointment behind a mask of calm.

“Of course,” he said.

Sam led him to the table, pulling out his chair for him and offered Castiel breakfast from the vast trays on the table. There was a fruit salad of strange star shaped fruit Castiel had never seen before. It tasted tart and Sam advised him to sprinkle a spoonful of sweet spices on it to make it more palatable. There was a plate of cured meats, mostly wild boar and Castiel tried a little although he found it too fatty for his tastes. He was used to the meat of soft, plump birds. There was a loaf of freshly baked bread that had been baked with the same array of sweet spices that Sam had offered Castiel to make the star fruit more palatable and that was most delicious with some butter spread on it. The Demons drank a richly spiced tea with their morning meals, unlike the aromatic light version Castiel had always partaken of at home, and a new pot was placed before them. It was not sweet in the least, but it was certainly invigorating. One sip and Castiel was certain he would not want to sleep again for many hours.

He and Sam ate together in silence. Castiel noted with interest that Sam took only the fruit salad and ignored the other dishes.

“Thank you for accepting the marriage to my brother,” Sam said after the silence had gone on for so long that Castiel was certain no attempt at conversation would be made. “You do not know how badly we needed Peace. WIthout your agreement…”

Castiel glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Sam looked sincere. Castiel was not sure how to accept this sudden outburst. He was not used to people being so forthright with him about their feelings, certainly not when it came to political affairs. Sam was right that he had not known how badly the Demons needed peace. Even hearing it from the lips of a Prince of the kingdom, Castiel did not believe it.

“I did what was best for both our people,” he said carefully, setting down his fork. He would not continue to eat while conversing. It had been drummed into his head many moons again that it was not polite to speak with his mouthful and he would not insult Sam by doing so.

“I was worried you would refuse. I was worried Michael would refuse. When Dean first raised the prospect of peace talks, his advisors warned him it would let you know you were winning,” Sam continued.

Castiel was grateful for the long hours he had spent at court, learning to hide his emotions, because this news from Sam completely floored him. His country had been winning the war? It had not felt like that. The Demons had felt like an insurmountable swarm. No matter how many they killed, more Demons always come.

“But we couldn’t go on. Your warriors were ruthless,” Sam said, closing his eyes, his head dropping. “They killed without compassion or mercy. You struck down anyone you bested.”

“It is an honour to die in battle. There is no honour in being captured, in being tortured and maimed” Castiel said. “Our Soldiers gave yours an honourable death. You showed us no such compassion.”

Sam raised his head, his eyes snapping open.

“You think killing people is compassion? Those soldiers had families, loved ones and you gave them no hope. You became the monsters we tell our children about - creatures without feelings, without hearts, who will kill you as soon as look at you.”

“Torture is not compassion,” Castiel said, his voice raising as his anger rose. “To be captured by your men was to suffer through untold agnoies.”

“We had to find ways to hurt your people, to kill them. You seemed unstoppable. Torture was all we had,” Sam said. His hands trembled. He looked so sad, so broken by the words. “Dean would have done anything to stop our people for dying, even torture if it meant he could find some advantage over you, but whatever advantage we gained, it wasn’t worth it.”

Castiel wanted to ask Sam if Dean had conducted the torture himself, or if he had only instructed it to be carried out, but he couldn’t force the words out. He did not want to know what his husband had done for the good of his people.

Hannah’s words came back to him, her warnings about Dean, how he would shred Castiel in two. In retrospect, they seemed so personal, direct at Dean specifically and not the Demons as a whole.

“We weren’t winning,” he said, his voice hoarse. “So many of our soldiers had been captured by your army, so many of them came back broken and wounded. I tended to them and it broke my heart to see what was done to them. Our people were on the brink of starvation. We could not have withstood many more months of your attacks. You were our ruthless monsters.”

He could not look at Sam, could not bear any of this suddenly. He had known only of the pain and destruction the Demons caused. He had never through that in a war that pain would go both ways. He had seen his Kingdom as unfairly attacked, a brave nation standing against a cruel invader, but this war what been started by Dean’s father and Castiel’s father. Castiel knew only the stories from his own Kingdom, their own history of how the war had started. The stories told by the Demons might be very different.

“So we were both losing,” Sam whispered. “The war really was futile.”

He reached for the teapot and poured some more tea into both their cups.

“Let us drink to peace,” he said. “And the hope that both our Kingdoms can recover from their scars.”

Castiel reached for his cup and drank, but he did not share Sam’s optimism.

He knew already that those scars ran deep. It would take a long time for them to heal, if they ever really did.

 

**  
Castiel did not see his husband in the days following.

Sam was apologetic on Dean’s behalf -. Dean was busy with the day to day running of the kingdom, Sam said. Castiel understood that. Dean was the King and he could not spend his time walking the grounds of the Citadel with Castiel, or introducing him to the noble families, when there was the more pressing political problem of fixing the war torn country. He understood, but Dean’s rejection of him still stung.

Sam was good company, now that the subject of the war had been raised and dealt with. He was friendly, engaging and asked Castiel almost endless questions about Angelic customs and culture, but he was not the one Castiel wanted to spend his time with.

His requests to see his husband were politely turned down.

Castiel saw him fleetingly, catching glimpses of him from the end of corridors, or from out of a window. State occasions that should have seen them together - feasts, public ceremonies - were either cancelled or attended by Dean alone. Castiel felt himself slipping into the shadows. His role, the symbolic marriage to establish peace, had been achieved. He was no longer needed and he felt it. Dean did not even care for the sight of him, and Castiel did not blame him. Castiel, when all was said and done, was an Angel. He was a lifelong enemy of Dean’s people and an oman of merciless death.

No wonder Dean wanted to keep him as far away from the public as possible.

**

The letter arrived after Castiel have been at the citadel for three months.

Castiel had received many letters from his brothers and sisters at home, but this was the first time Michael had written to him. Castiel knew when the letter was presented to him that it was from the King. It was sealed with his official seal. Castiel tore the letter open and read quickly. He knew Michael would only write to him about the most important matters concerning home.

He scanned the page, his heart beating faster as he looked for the reason for Michael’s message.

When he found it, he gave a little gasp.

He stood up, clutching the letter in his hand. For once, Dean would not be able to politely refuse a meeting with him. He had to know this news. It concerned both their futures.

He knew his husband’s schedule by heart. He knew exactly which areas of the Citadel he was supposed to stay away from, and exactly when. Dean would now be in his council chambers, hearing from his advisors. Castiel had never been invited, and he doubted that his input would be wanted or needed, but now he had information that Dean did need to hear.

He hurried out of his room; his feat tracing the path, the twists and turns of the corridors, until he came to the council chamber door. There were guards outside and they stood to attention when they saw Castiel arrive, barring his way.

Castiel drew himself up, his wings flexing up and puffing out.

“I need to see the King. I am his husband, you will accord me the respect deserved to me and let me see him.”

The guards looked startled. Castiel understood. He had never raised his voice to anyone in the kingdom. He had never shown them that their refusal to integrate him into palace life bothered him. He had never acted as if he was a Prince. He had accepted every slight meekly, but now he had had enough.

“Let me pass,” he said again, stern and steady.

Slowly, the guards stood aside.

They did not open the door for him, or anything else to make it easier for Castiel, but they did nothing else to try and bar him from seeing his husband.

Castiel grasped the door handle, turned it and shoved the door open.

There had been voices, noises, until Castiel opened the door. It was silent as he stepped into the council chamber. All eyes turned to look at him - some startled, some horrified, some narrowed and filled with hate. Not, Castiel was gratified to see, Dean’s eyes. Dean looked at him with confusion, but he did not seem angry to see Castiel there.

One of the advisors hurried forward. He grabbed hold of Castiel’s arm, pushing him back towards the door.

“The King is conducting state business. He does not want to be interrupted.”

“Take your hands off me,” Castiel snapped.

The advisor narrowed his eyes. He was an ugly man, portly and balding, with red tinged eyes and twisted, black and brittle horns.

“The King does not want you here,” he hissed, his grip on Castiel’s arm tightening hard enough to leave bruises.

“Crowley, take your hands off him!” Dean shouted, the words like a thunderclap, echoing around the room.

He stood up, stalking towards them, and slowly, Crowley removed his hand from Castiel’s arm.

“The Angel should not be here. This does not concern him,” he said flatly.

“We have no idea why Castiel is here,” Dean said. “And I will remind you that he is my husband, and a Prince, and you will treat him as such.”

“Yes, my lord,” Crowley said. He managed to fill those words with more venom than Castiel would have thought possible.

“You may leave us now. You may all leave us,” Dean instructed. “I want to speak to my husband in private.”

He ushered Castiel away from the door, leaving that space vacant for his advisors to file out. They did, some with mutters and some with quick, worried glances at their King, but they all did as he said, even Crowley, although he was the last to leave.

Once they were alone and the door was shut, Dean turned to look at Castiel.

“I’m sorry for that. I’m sure you know that not everyone was in favour of our marriage or the peace treaty. Some of them still believe we could have won this war, but they’re fools.”

“Why are they your advisors then?” Castiel asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean laughed. “They were my father’s advisors. His yes men. I inherited them. I’ve tried my hardest to modernise the Kingdom, to end the war and turn our resources inwards, to look at fixing our Kingdom rather than expansion, but they are still hanging on. It is not traditional to retire them until they die or become completely unhinged, but I feel with Crowley, the time when I forcibly remove him from his position is coming. He has said things I find bordering on treason.” He looked softly at Castiel. “And if he ever lays a hand on you again, I will have him stripped of his position and exiled. No one is allowed to treat you like that.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say. From the way Dean had treated him, avoiding him and ignoring him, he wouldn’t have thought Dean would have cared. Now, he saw that wasn’t true, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with that information. He wanted to know why Dean was so kind to him when they were alone together, but so cold the rest of the time. He had so many questions for his husband, but no idea where to start.

Instead, he thrust the letter towards Dean.

“Read this. It came from Michael today.”

Dean took the letter, looking quizzically at Castiel before he glanced down at the missive.

He read quickly, his mouth twisting into a frown as he did.

“Adam is pregnant,” he said. “Your brother will have an heir.”

“Yes,” Castiel said quietly. “And as you have no children, their child will be your heir too.”

Dean crumpled up the letter.

“How could this happen?” he hissed. “How could Adam let that monster touch him.”

Castiel stared at him. He had never heard Dean speak as freely has he had in the last few moments, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. He especially did not like hearing Dean refer to his brother as a monster. Michael was nothing but decent and kind, a true King. Did Dean not hear the hypocrisy in that? He was a demon, a true monster.

“How do you think it happened,” he said flatly. “Obviously, Adam is more committed to making his union work, then you are with ours. I suppose you think I am a monster too.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Castiel,” Dean said, turning away from him.

“Of course I wouldn’t understand. You’ve made certain of that,” Castiel snarled. “You have ignored me, belittled me, made it obvious that I am unwanted and undesirable. I had to leave my family! I had to leave my home! And I have gained nothing from you.”

“Do you think you were the only one who made a sacrifice?” Dean asked angrily. “Did you forget that my brother had to leave his home too, that he had to leave us and marry one of you cold, heartless bastards.”

Castiel, in truth,had never considered Adam or the marriage he made. It had never been at the forefront of his mind, and even when it had surfaced, Castiel had brushed it away because Adam was marrying Michael and coming to live in the Palace. It was a blessing for Adam, coming to a land of culture and learning, leaving behind his cruel brethren. He had never thought that Adam would be scared. He had never imagined that Adam would feel the same way he did. He had not even considered it when he had read Michael’s letter regarding Adam’s pregnancy. He had known that that would not have been just a political gesture, a required heir. He had known that, but listening to Dean, he was not so sure. He knew of Michael’s feelings, he knew his brother, but he did not know Adam.

“But Michael is a good man,” he said eventually. “And my home is...it’s wonderful.”

Dean snorted.

“Michael is ruthless and your home is as cold as the rest of you Angels - just marble and glass.”

“Why did you let him go then?” Castiel snapped. “If you hate Michael so much, why would you let your brother marry him?”

“Because Adam thought he could love him. Because he had hope and he’s stubborn, and nothing I said could dissuade him. Because he believed Michael would love him back!”

Castiel sagged. The knowledge that Dean hadn’t wanted this for Adam hurt him in a way he couldn’t describe. It was all wrong. Michael was a wonderful King and the kindest of brothers. He would never hurt someone he cared for, Castiel knew that, but here was Dean acting as if being married to his brother was the worst fate that could have befallen Adam. He believed Michael to be some kind of heartless monster, incapable of love, when Castiel knew that nothing could be further from the truth.

He knew his brother.

“You’re wrong,” he said quietly, balling his hands up into fists.

Dean looked at him sharply.

“You’re wrong, if you think Michael doesn’t care for him,” Castiel said, annunciating each word slowly and carefully so Dean couldn’t misunderstand them. “Whatever you think about him, I know my brother, and I knew from the moment I saw them together that Michael loved him.”

Dean opened his mouth, then shut it again quickly. He pursed his lips and Castiel could see him considering this.

“I would imagine they fell in love during your peace talks,” Castiel continued.

Dean nodded. “I probably left them alone too often,” he said, but his expression had softened.

“I think you should be pleased that your brother has made a love match despite the difficult circumstances,” Castiel said.

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched as he fought back a smile. “A silver lining, I see?”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed.

“And what about us?” Dean asked, catching him completely off guard.

“What about us?” Castiel asked nervously.

Dean stepped forward. He reached for Castiel’s hand and held it gently in his own.

“Could our marriage be a love match?”

Castiel stared at him, his heart hammering in his chest. He had not expected this, and he could not give Dean an answer. He did not know what to say.

Dean studied his face carefully and then slowly released his hold on Castiel’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have…” He stopped himself, pulling himself up, imperious in an instant. “I didn’t mean to trouble you, Castiel. Thank you for putting my mind at ease regarding my brother. I will leave you alone now.”

He didn’t give Castiel any time to reply, striding towards the door and opening it. In a few seconds he was gone, and all that was left to fill the emptiness of the room was the beating of Castiel’s treacherous heart.

He had gone to see Dean, believing that Dean hated him, but now he didn’t know what he believed.

He should have answered him, should have told him that yes, he did believe their marriage could be a love match, but now Dean was gone and Castiel was beginning to see that there were a lot of things about their marriage that he didn’t understand, and a great deal about his husband’s motivations. If Dean was determined to avoid him, they might never get the chance to talk, and Castiel had realized that they needed to talk.

 

**

Castiel left the council chamber, his heart pounding. He looked up and down, but the hallway was empty apart from the guards.

“Where did the King go?” he demanded of them.

They looked at each other, then back to him. Slowly, one of them shrugged his shoulders. Castiel bit his lip, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing his anger. They knew well enough which way Dean had gone, but they seemed determined to make Castiel’s life harder. Castiel would not rise to their bait.

He turned away from the guards and ran down the hallway, looking from left to right, hoping to catch a glimpse through one of the doors of Dean. He thought of all the places Dean might, the places Castiel had been forbidden to go when Dean was there, but now Dean was no longer following his daily pattern and Castiel was unsure where he would be.

Castiel flew down the tightly formed stone steps of the staircase, down to the ground floor, and out into the courtyard. There were people milling around, more people than Castiel had seen since he came to the Kingdom. People going about their daily business - servants of the castle, traders and merchants , groomsmen leading the great beasts that Castiel remembered seeing Dean ride when they had left his homeland. He wondered if that was where Dean was, in the stables with his great beast. He knew Dean enjoyed riding. Many a time he’d tried to arrange an audience with Dean only to learn that he wasn’t even in the Citadel, but had gone out riding. Sam had made mention of it many times, how much Dean adored that great beast of his. Castiel had begun to grow jealous of it, to hate how his husband could devote such care and attention to a thankless, thoughtless beast.

It was petty, the things he had thought, and Castiel knew that.

He ran in the direct of the stables, a little uncertain as he had never been there before. He let the noises and scent guide him. Castiel had grown used to ugly scents. He had been in the hospitals during the war, only visiting at first, but providing care when resources became stretched and he was the only one on hand to help. The scent of death and decay that had hung around the wards had been impossible to ignore or forget. Compared to that, the organic scent of the stables was not terrible. Castiel picked his way carefully through the hay, looking about for a glimpse of his husband, or for someone who might know where he was.

It surprised him that there were no groomsmen around. Castiel would have expected to see someone, but the stables appeared deserted apart from the animals that housed within its walls.

Castiel caught sight of Dean’s beast, the creature standing mournfully in it’s stall. It’s large, dark eyes watched Castiel.

“I don’t suppose you know where Dean is, do you?” Castiel asked, stepping towards it.

The creature lowered its head.

Castiel held out his faltering hand and the creature sniffed at it.

“I know you have a name, Sam told me it,” Castiel murmured. He hadn’t paid too much attention at the time. Sam’s words had washed over him, he’d hardly heard them.

The creature butted at his hand with its soft nose, waiting to be stroked.

“I think he called you Baby,” Castiel said, thinking aloud. “You don’t look like a Baby. You look like something from a nightmare.”

Even as he said those words, his fingers stroked over the creature’s head, petting its soft fur. Up close, it was actually surprisingly sweet natured. Castiel had looked at the horns and the size of the creature, but had never thought to look further. It was certainly nothing like the animals they had at home and that had been enough to frighten him away.

Castiel sighed.

“Baby,” he murmured, rubbing the creature’s nose while it nuzzled against his hand.

He had been terrified of Dean at first, of his horns and his strangeness, of the fact that he wasn’t what he was used to. Then the more time Castiel had spent with him, the more he’d realized that there was nothing to be frightened of, and then everything had gone wrong.

“I wish Dean was here,” he said.

Baby looked up at him, as if she understood exactly what Castiel was saying. “I know,” Castiel said, “I know you want him here too.”

Behind him Castiel heard the crunch of footsteps in the straw. He half-turned, expecting to see one of the grooms and hoping to see Dean, and as he did a knife sailed through the air, missing him by centimeters.

Castiel jumped, his wings flapping wildly in fear. Baby reared up in her stall, whinnying in distress, her front hooves kicking out wildly.

Castiel dodged another knife thrust, trying to get a look at his attacker. He didn’t know the man, but that was of no comfort to him. The Demon seemed determined, slashing and jabbing with the knife, driving Castiel deeper into the stables, blocking Castiel’s route of escape.

“Why are you doing this?” Castiel shouted, raising his arms in a feeble attempt to protect himself.

The Demon laughed. It was unpleasant, without any mirth in it.

“Can’t you guess?” he asked. “Marrying you was the biggest mistake the King could make. He is weak. We could have won the war, but he betrayed us all by signing that treaty. And then he brought you here, his angel whore, to sit on the throne and bare him bastard half-breeds. He wants to dilute the royal bloodline, to make the whole Kingdom as weak as he is! I won’t accept that, I won’t accept you. When I slit your throat, the war will be reignited. We’ll overthrow the King, we’ll destroy the angels. Lord Crowley has told me everything we’ll accomplish once you’re dead.”

Castiel could hardly breathe. Panic was rising in his chest, routing him to the spot. This was a planned assassination, a plot whipped up within Dean’s own Kingdom, by his own advisors. Castiel had never realized how hated Dean’s decision to sign the peace treaty had been. Dean had said the war was unwinnable, that his people were suffering. He had put the good of his kingdom first, looking for peace that would give them a chase for stability and safety, but that hadn’t resonated with this Demon. He saw Dean’s compassion as weakness. He saw Castiel as a liability, a threat to the future of the kingdom.

He had no idea, no idea at all. Castiel would never bear children, would never rule with Dean. He would be nothing but a shadow, a symbol of this hated treaty. He was no threat to anyone or anything, but because he was an angel, because he was the Prince, this Demon would kill him.

Instinctively, he wrapped his wings about himself as the Demon lunged at him again.

Castiel felt the knife slice through feathers, into the bone. The pain was white hot and awful, worse than Castiel had imagined it would be. He cried out, his wings beating wildly, the pain worse when he moved but he was panicking now. He wanted to escape, to get away from the Demon and his knife. His wings flapped frantically, hitting the Demon in the stomach and sending him flying back onto the straw covered floor.

The Demon coughed and spluttered, winded either from the fall or from the force of the blow from Castiel’s wing. He struggled to his feet, but he had dropped the knife somewhere in the struggle. He looked around, searching for it, then charged at Castiel again.

“I’ll kill you with my own hands if I have too!” he shouted.

For Castiel, time seemed to slow. Through the frantic beats of his wings he caught glimpses of the scene that unfolded. The Demon lunged at him. Baby reared up in her stable, whining long and loud and distressed. Then, silhouetted by the sunlight, Dean appeared in the stable door. He stood there for a second before launching himself forward, tackling the Demon from behind and knocking him back down into the ground.

“What are you doing?” He growled, his tail thrashing back and forth.

The Demon beneath him laughed again, that same mirthless laugh that had chilled Castiel before. It sounded completely unhinged now.

“You aren’t my King. I don’t need to answer to you. You’re a traitor!”

Dean snarled, rising to his feet and dragging the other Demon up with him.

“You will be executed for your treason,” he said, his eyes almost black in his fury.

“Treason? I’m a hero,” the demon said. “I’ll be a martyr.”

“You’re a madman,” Dean said.

He was breathing heavily, trying to control himself, but Castiel could see how much effort he was putting in to restraining himself. Castiel was certain that Dean wanted to kill the other Demon right then and there. He was also certain that Dean could do it.

“Your Highness!” someone shouted.

More people arrived. There suddenly seemed to be so many of them, people who had been absent when Castiel had been screaming and shouting, fighting for his life, but who were here now that their King was in danger. Castiel sunk down, away from them, crawling into one of the empty stalls. His wing was bleeding heavily and he was starting to feel dizzy.

Dean would be safe. He was sure of that.

Castiel lay down in the straw, his wounded wing cover him, blood dripping down his feathers. He listened to the scuffle outside, Dean’s hurried explanation of what he’d discovered, the sound of Baby’s hooves as she paced up and down in her stall.

He listened and he closed his eyes.

**

The rush of worried faces had surprised Dean. There had suddenly been no shortage of people, where a moment before it had been just him, Castiel and an assassin. Now that Assassin was flanked by two guards, his hands tied, being escorted away to the dungeon. Dean had meant what he’d said. The man would be executed and as soon as Dean could arrange it. An attack on Castiel was treason. Dean would not be appealed to or softened on his position regarding this. He would make an example of this assasin. He would wield the executioner's axe himself he he had to and he would do it in the centre of the courtyard, where everyone could see what happened to those who tried to hurt Dean or his own.

He knew there were those who thought he was weak for seeking peace, who thought he had betrayed the kingdom and his father’s legacy, but they had no idea who they were dealing with. Dean’s kindness was not boundless, but his anger could be.

He had been naive, thinking that his subjects would accept Castiel just because they were supposed to. Dean had done nothing to integrate him into their lives. He had kept Castiel at arm's length, originally for Castiel’s own good, but also for his own sakes. He had sought to keep his distance to lessen his attraction to the Angel, but all his subjects had seen was a man who could not stand to be around his husband, who found reasons and distractions to stray from his side, and that behaviour, not matter what explanation lay behind them, had resorted in Castiel being effectively shunned by everyone.

He would not allow that to continue. He had tried to do what he thought was best for everyone, but it had created an unlivable situation and left Castiel vulnerable. No matter the personal pain, Dean had to accept his husband and involve him in the Kingdom. He had to swallow his pride and his feelings, to learn to love Castiel in the best way for Castiel. That was how he could keep him safe.

Dean looked around, looking for his husband, who, he realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, was not there.

Castiel could not have gone far. He had been wounded, and Dean knew enough of Angel biology to know that wounds to the wings were especially damaging.

There were drops of blood in the hay. Dean followed them.

He came upon a sight that scared him almost as much as the one he’d stumbled upon when he entered the stables. Castiel was lying in one of the stalls. He looked like a statue, a tragic piece carved in marble. He was so pale, almost unmoving apart from the subtle rise and fall of his breathing. His eyes were closed, his poor bloodied and broken wing cradled over his body.

Dean cursed himself a thousand times over for not noticing Castiel’s disappearance sooner. He had been so intent on subduing Castiel’s attacker, on ensuring justice, that once again, Castiel had slipped away from him and Dean hadn’t even noticed.

“Get me a doctor,” he barked out.

He got down on his knees in the straw, cradling Castiel’s head, gently patting his cheek to try to wake him up. Castiel was cold to the touch.

Dean realized with horror that he might be too late.

“Castiel….Cas...wake up,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desperation. “Please, wake up.”

 

**

Castiel opened his eyes slowly.

The light in the room felt foreign to him. He had been asleep for a long time, cloaked in the reassuring blackness of sleep. Now he squinted, trying to get used to the brightness that seemed too harsh. His whole body ached. For the longest moment he didn’t remember why that would be. Then everything came rushing back to him in one horrible moment of remembrance.

He remembered everything - the assassin, the pain that had flared through him when the knife was driven through his wing, Dean’s appearance and his righteous fury, and Castiel’s final act, dragging himself away to die in the stables.

He had not died. That much was obvious.

Castiel blinked, adjusting to the light now.

The first thing he saw, to his amazement, was Dean.

Dean who was asleep in a chair at his bedside.

Castiel stared at him, almost unable to believe that Dean was really there. He had spent such a long time separated from Dean, catching only glimpses of him, that to have Dean here, real and breathing softly in his sleep, seemed impossible. Castiel watched to reach out to touch him, to prove to himself that Dean was real, but when he tried to move his wing, bound and carefully bandaged, protested with pain. Castiel stopped moving, lying still in the bed, breathing heavily from the exertion, and watched Dean instead.

It had been so long since he had been able to simply look at his husband. He studied every line of Dean’s face, staring at him intently. There were freckles dotted across Dean’s nose and the high points of his cheeks. Castiel hadn’t seen them until now, but he had never had the same opportunity to admire Dean so closely and for so long. Once Dean awoke, he was certain that he would never have this chance again.

Dean shifted then, stretching out and opening his brilliant green eyes. He looked directly at Castiel and smiled widely at what he saw.

“You’re awake,” he said softly. “How do you feel?”

“As if someone stabbed me,” Castiel said dryly. “I’ve certainly felt better.”

Dean continued to smile. It was bewitching. Castiel found himself smiling back.

“I’m so glad you’re awake,” Dean murmured. “I thought for a while there that you weren’t going to make it. You’ve been asleep for so long.”

“The assassin told me he wasn’t acting alone, he told me…”

“That Lord Crowley had inspired him?” Dean asked, cutting across Castiel. “Yes, he told me so as well. He provided me the names of every one of the plotters. I know many ways to make a man talk when he doesn’t want to. You don’t need to worry about them, Castiel. We do not treat treason lightly in this country.”

Castiel nodded. He did not want to know the details of what Dean had done, or what had become of the conspirators. He was content to know that Dean had routed out the plot against him, that he was safe and his Kingdom secure.

Dean’s face crumpled suddenly, the smile disappearing. He looked so sad, broken and defeated, and Castiel couldn’t understand why.

“I’m so sorry, Castiel,” Dean said. “I wanted to protect you. I was trying to protect you, protect you from me. I know you didn’t want this marriage, I know you’re not interested in me. I told myself I was happy with that, but I wasn’t and it seemed the best thing to keep you at arm's length, to keep you away from me so I would stop wanting you, but all I did was put you in danger. I failed you. I…”

“Please stop,” Castiel said, shaking his head. “You’re wrong. Dean, everything you think about me, it’s wrong. Please stop putting me on a pedestal. I’m not this perfect, innocent creature you and my brother thought I was. I’m petty, and jealous, and lustful and angry. Dean, from the moment we met, I wanted you. I told myself it was wrong because you’re a Demon and I’ve grown up hating you. I told myself that it was noble to resist you, to think of myself as a martyr because we’d always been at war and now I was marrying you for peace, but I was being blind. When you rejected me, it broke my heart. I am not a good person, Dean. I’m not. I have done good things, sometimes, but you didn’t know who I was when you married me. I didn’t even know myself. All I have wanted since our wedding was your attention.”

Castiel breathed heavily, unable to believe the words that had come out of him, all the thoughts and feelings he had been concealing. He knew he had been cold, intolerant, and stupid. He hated himself for the things he had thought about Dean. He was certain that Dean would hate him now too, but he had to speak. He might not get another chance if Dean decided that Castiel was safer kept away from him again.

Dean stared at him.

“You wanted me? But your brother told me…”

“My brother is my brother, Dean. He has been away fighting a war, and I never...I didn’t know how powerful desire could be until I met you. I’ve never had any infatuation or love affair.”

Dean sat back in his chair, a look of disbelief on his face.

“Then all this time when I was pushing you away, when I thought I was protect you, you wanted the opposite?”

Castiel nodded slowly.

“We’ve been such fools,” Dean said. “We’ve wasted so much time.”

He moved carefully, gently, cupping Castiel’s face in his hands. The kiss Castiel had been waiting for, yearning for since his wedding day, was not far behind. Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean, holding onto him tightly, fearful that Dean might disappear again if he didn’t.

This time things would be different. This time, they understood each other. Castiel was no longer a symbol. He was flesh and blood and real. Dean had seen him for who and what he really was. Their marriage could begin anew with this knowledge. They could love each other as people, not as emissaries of their Kingdoms.

Theirs could be a love match, however unconventional it started.

Castiel was certain of that now.

**

Epilogue

The baby fidgeted, kicking and fussing in her cot.

Michael bent to pick her up, holding her to his chest until her little wings stopped flapping and her small, thin tail finished thrashing back and forth. She relaxed against him, tiny hands balled up, clutching at him.

“You’re spoiling her,” Adam murmured. “She’s supposed to sleep now.”

“She can sleep later,” Michael said, smiling at his daughter.

He had never believed he could be this happy. He had never imagined that ending the war could bring him not only peace for his kingdom, but personal peace as well. He had Adam, who he loved, and their daughter. It was a brighter future than Michael had ever pictured for himself.

The birth of an heir was an auspicious time for any Kingdom, but this birth in particular was an important one. A child born of both the royal lines of the Angles and the Demons. There had never been a child like her, but she would not be the last one.

Indeed, only a few months away, there would be another.

Castiel was round with child, beautiful and glowing in his new state. Michael had never seen him so happy. He had arrived, along with his husband and a group of dignitaries to attend the feast days set aside to welcome the new crown-princess.

Privately, Michael had worried about how married life would treat Castiel. He had known Castiel saw his marriage as a duty. When he had heard of Castiel’s pregnancy, he had worried further, but the Castiel who triumphantly returned to the Kingdom was not the Castiel who had left it. The one who returned was in love with his husband, and it was clear that that love was returned. Dean was as protective as a watchdog, always within reach, his concern and great care for his husband obvious in every look and every gesture.

Their child would be as wanted and as adored as Michael’s own daughter.

Adam stretched then, his tail flickering as he did.

“Come here,” he said, motioning to Michael to join him.

Michael did, settling down beside Adam on their bed, carefully passing their daughter to him.

“She has your eyes,” he said softly. “I only hope she’ll grow up to be as beautiful as you.”

Adam laughed, settling their daughter gently against his chest where she could be lulled to sleep by the rise and fall of his breathing.

Michael watched them, his breath stolen by the sight of the two of them.

This peace between the two Kingdoms would hold. He knew it would.

It was built on love.


End file.
